
Class 

Book : 



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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



SONGS OF THE FIELD 



To 3^* 



Copyright 19 14 

FLORENXE KIMBALL FAVOR 



Rumford Press 

Concord 
New Hampshire 



// 



at 



DEC 10 1914 

©CI.A387880 



DEDICATION 

To mother dear I bring these lays, 
In memory of my childhood days, 
To her who smoothed away the tears, 
To her who banished all our fears, 
To her who taught us first to pray, 
Who led us out on life's highway, 



I dedicate this book, in loving remembrance to my 
mother, Annie McAHster Kimball. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Firelight Dance 1 

My Home 3 

What is the World Seeking? 5 

The Perfect Bouquet 8 

When the Crickets Sing 11 

Dreaming on the Bars 13 

The Contoocook 15 

The Old Apple Basket 18 

The Masterpiece 21 

Meta Winona . .* 24 

In the Garden of the Soul 27 

The Mountain and the Pine 29 

June 32 

Christmas 34 

Phoebe 36 

The Milky Way 38 

The Road to Concord End 41 

The Broad Highway 45 

The Necklace 47 

Where the Blue Gentian Grew 51 

November 56 

Sunshine 58 



THE FIRELIGHT DANCE 

The wind blows chill, the ground is white, 
While darkness falls on wings of night; 
Around the farm house on the hill, 
In dreams again I see it still. 

How often at the close of day, 
Tired with all, both work and play, 
Two little girls with fun intent 
Were both on merry mischief bent. 

Out to the shed with a run and a jump, 
Over the woodpile, both log and stump, 
Forth from the cobweb's lace and dust, 
Came the dry shingles playfully thrust, 

Into the old black fireplace, 
Lighting the walls with flickering grace; 
Back were the chairs the dance to begin. 
Free from all cares and sorrow and sin, 

Two little figures dance in the light, 
Laughing with joy at the cold and the night, 
Perpetual summer is there to abound, 
Whirling and drifting and floating around. 



[i 



Songs of the Field 

The heart beats fast, the red blood flows, 
Life leaping free no bound 'ry knows. 
The joy of childhood, mad and free, 
What matter the snow on wall and tree? 

The firelight fades upon the wall; 
Two tired lassies, to mother's call, 
Come to her knee in nightrobes white- 
To hear their prayer, and say good night. 

When the cold of winter comes to me, 
I think of days that used to be. 
Gone are they all as I backward glance 
But memory of that firelight dance. 

October, 191 2. 



[2 



Songs of the Field 

MY HOME 

In Memory of a Dear Friend 

There is a robin singing in the maple 

And bluebirds are twittering sweet, 

Answered by the feathered chorus 

All along the shady street. 

There's the big white house in the sunshine. 

How the windows glow and shine, 

And clematis is stirring, waking up to glad springtime. 

Underneath the Baldwin apple there old Chippie 

used to play, 
Eating up his nuts and clover, working busily all 

day. 
There's the row of hydrangeas growing through long 

summer days, 
Blossomed into wondrous beauty in the autumn's 

lazy haze. 
Oh! how green, and soft as velvet was the grass be- 
neath my feet. 
And a lovely garden blossomed by the house side bright 

and sweet. 
In my rocking chair I am swaying, 
I can hear my birdling sing, 
I had just a taste of Heaven, 
I was carried as on wing to my old home, to my 

dear home, 

[3] 



Songs of the Field 

I can see it just as plain, 

Though in memory it is sleeping, sleeping dormant 
in my brain. 

As we sat out on the wellcurb or in the rocking chair 
The blue sky shone above us, what cared we for work 

or care? 
Ours to soar on wings "of morning, ours to rest on 

clouds of night: 
We can never be forsaken, for we trust the Arm of 

Might. 
The setting sun is shining, lighting up in afterglow 
The things we have worried over will be plain for 

us to know. 

So we pass into the future, through the open door, 
We step upon the threshold of the old home as of yore 
There we meet together in the land that knows no 

pain 
There we will laugh for gladness, in the sunshine 

after rain. 



Songs of the Field 



WHAT IS THE WORLD SEEKING? 

What is the world all seeking? 

Pleasure, joy and gold, 
And, gotten, do they bring to us 

The comfort they foretold ? 

Look and see, look all around you, 

Do you see all faces shine 
Can you probe beneath the surface 

To the radiance divine? 

Does earth's gold and pleasure, 

Satisfy your hungry heart? 
Do you drop beneath earth's honors 

That gold can impart? 

Whither are you traveling, 

Pilgrim of today, 
Whither are you seeking 

All along the dreary way? 

Have you found it in the sunshine? 

Have you found it in the rain, 
Or in the ocean billows 

Raging o'er the billowy main? 

[5] 



Songs of the Field 



O my brother, do you find it, 
In your brother's anxious face? 

Wearily and long have you hunted, 
Have you found a tiny trace? 

As the knights of old have hunted 
For the fount of living youth, 

Braved the boisterous ocean billows 
In their greed ignored all truth. 

Did lost youth of Ponce de Leon 

Come back in Florida's golden fruit? 

Ah, no! through all his struggle 
Youth once fled remaineth mute. 

Over city, sea and mountain, 
So many have traveled in vain, 

Some creep within the shadows 
Some bask upon the plain. 

Stop and ponder well, my brother, 
That we seek is in our soul ; 

God in his loving goodness 
Placed it as the centre goal. 



[6] 



Songs of the Field 



Then why travel to far countries 
Why be greedy for the gold? 

We have it always with us — 
This magnet of the soul. 

On each heart God placed his finger 
Let his love shine bright; 

Hide it not within a measure ; 
Nurse it, fan it into light. 

Let us comprehend this lesson 

Given by a love divine. 
Let us live in perfect union 

In this temple, grand, sublime. 



[7 



Songs of the Field 

THE PERFECT BOUQUET 

Written from a Dream 

Oh ! the first flowers 

In the garland that I weave, 
I find among the dead old logs, 

And under withered leaves. 
Such sweetness and such color 

Of lovely pink and white — 
They tell us of earth's glad springtime, 

After long, long winter's night. 

Then in childhood gay, I wander 

Through the valley, cool and deep, 
Picking hosts of violet beauties, 

As they nestle at my feet. 
Oh ! the joy that vies the sunshine 

Now comes to my childhood's view, 
Vast, broad fields of golden yellow 

Brighter yet when kissed with dew. 



Songs of the Field 



Lilies, roses, daisies, 

What a fairy sight; 
How they cluster 'round our memory 

In their robes of airy light. 
Lilies show us childhood pure, 

Daisies, girlhood bloom, 
Roses are the crowning blossoms — 

Maidenhood has reached its noon. 

Summer now has reached its splendor, 

Lowly hangs the golden rod, 
Lighting up the hills and valleys 

With the bright sweet smiles of God. 
Long and graceful sprays of wormwood, 

What! the bitter with the sweet? 
Yes ! I find I have to twine it. 

To make the chain complete. 

Jack Frost now lays on 

His paralyzing hand, 
And a purple blossom brightens 

All the highways in the land. 
These are the dear frost flowers 

Kissing the earth good-bye, 
Telling us that Summer lingers: 

But, verily, she must die. 



[9 



Songs of the Field 



Now the legend of the flowers 

Came like a dream o'er the lea. 
Standing out was each fair blossom. 

Showing my whole life to me. 
Each flower has a meaning — 

Kind word or smile or deed ; 
Each leaflet a help to those 

That are in painful need. 

The long sprays of the wormwood 

Tells the bitter in the cup ; 
But how lovely is the bouquet 

With the wormwood, when made up. 
Day by day I weave this garland , 

Gathering blossoms from every hand, 
From the longest days of childhood 

Until life's Autumn rules the land. 

When I pass within the portal, 
May the guardian not say nay, 

And may I present the Master 
A perfect made bouquet. 



IO 



Songs of the Field 



WHEN THE CRICKETS SING 




When the August moon is shining 

The lone bird nestles, pining, 

Longing for the lonely little mate of other days. 

While lovers stroll enchanted 

In a light that's fairy haunted 

Down the happy dreamy path of diverse ways, 

The sumac waves her plumes of red ; 

The birds are very still, 

From over vale and hill ; 

Yet, now we hear a chorus, cricket led. 



ii] 



Songs of the Field 

The corn leaves rustle soft 
And hay has filled the loft; 
Yellow are the fields of ripening grain, 
Cattle cropping verdure over hill and plain, 
Hills and valleys covered with the lovely golden rod, 
Nodding lilies of the field smiling up to God, 
Summer's in high revels 
With arms both full to bring, 

The harvest's surely coming when we hear the 
crickets sing. 



[12 



Songs of the Field 



DREAMING ON THE BARS 

What a childish fascination 

Had those rustic bars for me 
As I perched upon the topmost 

So the prospect I could see. 
Such enchantment in the picture, 

Oh ! such beauty in the sky, 
And the hills in solemn grandeur 

Breathed anew that God was nigh. 

How the eager eyes of childhood 

Drank the beauty in the scene, 
While the bracing air made one's sense 

Quick and keen. 
Longing ever for the future, 

Reaching out beyond the hills, 
Thinking of the busy city, 

Of its joys and of its ills. 

And the beauty in the landscape 

Took a quiet second place, 
As an airy fairy castle 

In my mind was built in haste. 
There is joy in building castles 

Even if they crash and fall, 
In this we find a vital truth, 

Hope the balm, the life-blood of us all 

[13] 



Songs of the Field 

Years have gone and memory lingers 

On the bitter, and the sweet. 
I have passed beyond the hill-tops 

To the crowded city street, 
And in the seething mass 

Of human mortal strife, 
I have found the Balm of Gilead 

A joy that sweetens life. 

And the keynote of this secret 

Is the love of God divine; 
Open wide the heart's grim portal 

Let this love all through you shine 
Till the golden hearted centre 

Radiates its love to all, 
If a cottage gives you shelter, 

Or a mansion grand and tall. 

Let it permeate your being, 

Let it work with you by day, 
Let it shadow you at even, 

Take it with you all the way, 
And to the God of love 

Who has numbered all the stars, 
My prayer is keep me pure 

As when I sat upon the bars. 



M 



Songs of the Field 



THE CONTOOCOOK 




Monadnock snow, with many rills, 
Came hurrying down the rugged hills, 
Joining in at every chance, 
Little streams with ripples dance, 
Until at last with mutual gifts 
Contoocook's tide is bright and swift. 



Oh come and see some summer day, 
Let all the cares quite slip away; 
And stand beside the glimmering stream, 
And be a part, just rest and dream. 
Reflected there within the stream 
Are all the florist's shades of green. 

[15] 



SOXGS OF THE FlELD 



Close beside the water's edge 
The blue fringed orchis forms a hedge, 
While cardinal flowers stiff, and red 
Reflected in the river's bed. 
Yellow lilies drift, and float, 
Covering over every mote. 

Black ducks float upon the tide, 
With all their ducklings by their side. 
The muskrat cuts the water through, 
While just the nose protrudes to view. 
Lazily swimming in the stream 
Now and then a fish is seen. 
Around the banks the tadpoles lie, 
To make frog chorus bye and bye. 

The swift canoe, with paddler's skill, 
Goes gliding o'er the river still. 
No red man's feathers now are seen, 
The pale-face floats upon the stream. 
Yet baptized with Indian lore 
The river knows no red man more, 
Yet now we hear the putter put, 
As motor boats the wavelets cut. 



i6 1 



Songs of the Field 

It twists and winds, is never still, 
Flows by hamlet, turn, and hill, 
Commanding love from every side, 
Harnessed for manufacturer's bride; 
So on, and on, yet just begun, 
So many wheels in smoothness run. 

That for its size it has been said 
Contoocook's mills in numbers led. 
From every bank, fern and fell 
We hear the tinkling of the bell. 
The cows are coming to be fed. 
Contoocook's found the Merrimack's bed, 
So on they glide together free, 
Contoocook sparkles in the sea. 




'7 



SOXGS OF THE FlELD 



THE OLD APPLE BASKET 





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Tired with all this world of work 

I look oft backward, let memory lurk; 

It hangs to childhood ever free. 

The same old songs come back to me. 

The sunshine streams on the kitchen floor; 

The stove is blacked from rim to door; 

The old table stands in its cloth of red 

While the old brown chest lifts a stately head 



The teakettle sings a song of cheer 
To three merry faces crowding near, 
And last, but not least, in our estimation 
The old apple basket for accommodation, 

[18] 



Songs of the Field 

Filled to the brim with red; yellow and green, 
Smooth, clear skinned apples as ever was seen. 
Forth from the old arch's gaping mouth, 
Piled to the top from North to the South.- 

No hint of wrecked fruit yet to be, 
No moth nest then on bush or tree. 
But sunlight, rain and mild winds blow, 
Making light of winter's snow. 
Here in the basket for all to eat, 
Hunt the world over they're hard to beat. 
How many apiece? Well, I should smile 
If you could tell by the largest pile. 
For some ate cores and some did not 
And some fell prone to the old pig's lot. 

The largest and best we named with a snap 
And shook the seed in our aproned lap: 
"One I love, two I love, three I love I say," 
If it's not a good one I throw the seeds away. 
Baldwins were the largest, seeds they held but 

few; 
Sheepnoses were the smallest, seed sac filled up 

true. 
Belts were straining stitches 
When we got to "little witches." 



19 



Songs of the Field 

What mattered the ice and snow without, 

We were all free from pain or gout. 

Skins clear and fair like a peach in full bloom, 

Eyes sparkling sunlight filling the room. 

You can brew your wine from Italy, France or 

Spain, 
But that old apple basket will put them all to 

shame. 
In memory yet I see it still 
And the old farm house at the top of the hill, 
The old brown basket with its wire handle, 
The old brass holder and the tallow candle ; 
No never again with taste so sweet 
But in memory will the old brown basket treat. 



20 



Songs of the Field 



THE MASTERPIECE 

What seest thou on the canvas 

So dingy, dark and old? 
Do you catch a glimpse of model 

Draped in crimson, blue and gold? 
What is under the crackling surface 

In tiny rifts of light? 
Surely under the rough outside 

Is a picture, rare and bright. 

Carefully, slowly, scrape and polish, 

Taking off the coverlid. 
Slowly into being bringing 

The picture, long years hid. 
We stand entranced before it, 

A vision of light and shade 
Perfect as is early morning 

Or as evening's shadows glade. 



Songs of the Field 



Memory clutches at our heart strings 

As we gaze enwrapped in light. 
And the sleeping soul is awaking 

From a long and dreary night 
As the model on the canvas 

Into active being springs 
While within our memory's chamber 

Comes a wish for grander things. 

Humbly we think before it 

What the lowly Master wrought 
Working out his life's whole center 

Radiant with noble thought 
To me, as I gaze on the picture 

Comes a sermon in light and shade. 
'Tis the hope of every mortal 

That the master hand has made 

W T e are all within this cover 

Carefully remove the lid 
Some for years are in the darkness, 

Some are but a moment hid 
Let us peer beneath the surface 

Rough, perchance, and dark and old 
Within each, every bosom 

A masterpiece we hold. 



22 ] 



Songs of the Field 



Tis the great Master of love who gave it 

To the children of his heart. 
Let us draw in glorious unison, 

And each, happy, do our part. 
And working in a tiny niche, 

May we radiate the light 
May we live with our Grand Master 

In his royal glory, bright. 



- 7 5 



Songs of the Field 

META WINONA 

An Indian Lullaby 

Blow mild wind from out the South through the 

branches of the trees, 
Swaying in a gentle breeze 
Where thy tiny cradle swings, held aloft by silken 

strings. 
Sleep sweetly on your cradle board lined with thistle's 

down. 
Breathe perfume from the pine green. 
Gain virtue from the oak tree brown. 
Maples whisper near you tales of warriors brave and 

true; 
The fawn has found its mother; 
The sun is lost to view. 
Meta Winona born for pain and yet for laughter. 

Father's pride, the first born daughter. 
May your hands in useful duty 
Make your tepee a thing of beauty! 
Make the doe skin soft as velvet; 
Grind the maize to finest powder; 
Learn the silence of the forest and make the warcry 
louder; 



[24] 



Songs of the Field 



Dance the dance, with maidens virtuous; 

Ever make the young brave courteous. 

Place thy hand upon the red-stone 

So before the eyes of many you may stand so strong 

alone, 
For the love of painted warrior you will stir within 

his breast. 
When the night is hushed in stillness 
He will come a welcome guest. 

Lift the curtain of the doorway, pull your robe with 

trembling fingers, 
Body quivering like an aspen 
Whispers love words as he lingers. 
Silent you, my babe, shall be to the words so softly 

spoken 
Perhaps for months and days shall he look and listen 

for a token. 
Go ye deep into the forest, learn the ways of all the 

creatures, 
Pray unto the Mighty Spirit, glean from nature all 

she teaches, 
Fast and pray to be permitted mother of a mighty 

Nation, 
Bear the braves and chiefs to a higher, nobler station ; 



25 



Songs of the Field 



Yet keep with all a heart so tender, 
Teach the youth and maiden slender, 
In the joy of their midsummer 
Make the red man live forever. 

Cast away the evil spirits, make the famine come no 
never. 

Make the fat bear sure our brother; 

Make the wild goose lower hover; 

Learn the gray wolf's startling call; 

How the beaver builds his wall ; 

Hanging crane like in the shade 

How the wasp his camp has made ; 

Strong of limb and sure of feet, 

Canoeing where the waters meet, 

Learn to swim as fishes do, 

Manato is ever true. 

Sleep Winona, borne for pain, and yet for laughter, 

Father's joy, his first born daughter. 



26] 



Songs of the Field 



IN THE GARDEN OF THE SOUL 

Out of darkness a rose born light 

Comes with the dawn of day. 
Out of the turmoil of daily strife, 

Comes a quickening ray. 
There came to my darkened window 

A whisper of greatest cheer, 
When all is still around me, 

'Tis the elixir of life I hear. 

Come with me to the garden 

And I will tell you all. 
Come sit with me in dreamland 

And you will hear the call. 
How many of you have heard it? 

Did it bring you joy, or pain? 
Did you wander in winter darkness, 

Or down June's shady lane? 



[27] 



Songs of the Field 



Did you see a face in the firelight, 

Or in the morning sun? 
Did you respond with the answer, 

Yes, yes, dear heart, I come? 
Did you hear a whispered sentence 

That rests upon your heart 
That in this life of ours 

You never more will part. 

Then part from what? the body, 

The form we love so well ; 
Come into the inner garden 

Where only the soul can dwell. 
The flowers smile a promise, 

All true hearts are one. 
We reach the goal of humble peace, 

And say God's will be done. 



[28] 



Songs of the Field 



THE MOUNTAIN AND THE PINE 




I have a great joy treasure, 

But they say it is not mine, 
But somehow I don't believe them: 

It's the mountain and the pine. 
From my window oft I see it, 

And each day it dearer grows, 
The massive pine forever green, 

And the mountain hid with snows. 



29 



Songs of the Field 



They take all kinds of weather, 

Rain, and snow, and sun, and mild; 
I can always see the pine tree, 

Though the storm beat high, and wild. 
Though the mist has hid the mountain, 

Yet my faith is with it still, 
And I hear the pine tree whisper 

At the foot of the shrouded hill. 

When the sun shines bright on the mountain. 

The mists all flee away 
And I watch the shadows flicker 

Throughout the long bright day. 
As the sun sinks low in the western sky 

The purple shadows fall, 
And around the crest of the mountain 

Is a rose light over all. 

In its strength, and in its beauty, 

In reflection stands the pine 
Luring me forever onward, 

And its beauty still is mine. 
No one, nothing, can e'er bar me from 

This picture I behold 
I have not a deed or title, 

Neither have I any gold. 



30 



Songs of the Field 



But though storms may roar, and winds may blow 

And, weary, sad I roam 
I lift my eyes up to the hills, 

And go to the pine tree's home. 
A lullaby I seem to hear, 

A whispering caress, 
I look upon the mountain, 

And it fills my soul with rest. 

Nature's God has touched them, 

And in my life they twine, 
I am thankful for this treasure, 

The mountain and the pine. 



[31] 



Songs of the Field 



JUNE 




June, there is music in the country 

And in every leafy tree, 
There sing the merry songsters 

As birds so glad and free; 
In our hearts there's melody, 

On our lips a song, 
The songs of many a summer, 

Which all to us belong. 



32 



Songs of the Field 



June, you ever welcome summer 

With your sunshine, songs and flowers, 
So today we bid you welcome, 

May you find these sunny hours 
As we greet you, all in friendship, 

And each some tribute bringing, 
May it lodge within your bosom, 

And you join in nature's singing. 

June, we love you, in your lap 

You hold young summer strong, 
But even with all your strength 

You cannot hold her long, 
There is a time for blossoms, 

And there is a time for fruit; 
We cannot help the passing 

As in tears our lips are mute. 

June, we thank you for a glimpse 

Of eternal summer bright, 
We can ne'er forget you 

Even in winter's coldest night. 
You have wooed and won the strongest heart, 

All nature true is thine, 
We can only smile our thanks 

At your bright and blooming shrine. 



33l 



Songs of the Field 



CHRISTMAS 




Ring out, wild bells of Christmas, 

From over land and sea! 
Ring out the joyful tidings 

For the King of Galilee ! 

From over the hot sandy desert 

Came camels from afar, 
Quivered the sensitive nostril, 

While before them shone the star. 

The magi, tall, majestic, 

Rode in quiet, swaying pace; 

To the stable they were guided, 
There to see a baby's face. 



34l 



Songs of the Field 



Promised adown the world's dark ages, 

Written, stamped on parchment pages, 

Lo ! The child laid in a manger, 

Son of God, to earth a stranger, 

Cold and gray the Christmas dawning, 

Warmed to love the babe adorning, 

The cot of straw a kingly bed ; 

A halo hovers around his head. 

Joy to earth, the child is born! 

The tidings came on wings of song. 

The angel chorus from on high, 

A chorus that shall never die, 

Of Peace on Earth Goodwill to men. 

Sing it now as they sang it then. 

Let love surround this cold, old earth, 

Warm every heart with Christmas mirth. 



35) 



Songs of the Field 



PHOEBE 




I listen ever for that sound, 
I hear it yet as spring comes around 
If skies are blue, or dull, or gray. 
It is not springy until that day — 
The day we see that little head 
Of Phoebe singing on the shed. 



It brings new life, new thought, new joy. 

It makes one whistle like a boy. 

The very first song I hear in the spring 

Is little brown Phoebe so light on the wing. 

She makes us think of every cheer 

So well we know that spring is here. 

[36] 



Songs of the Field 

The cold of winter rolls away 

And soon all birds will come to stay ; 

But bravely facing the north wind keen 

Little Miss Phoebe now is seen. 

I see it yet as years ago, 

The old brown shed I used to know; 

Winter's hand is on spring's head, 

A Phoebe singing up on the shed. 



[37] 



Songs of the Field 



THE MILKY WAY 

I stand beneath the arch so blue 

All studded thick with stars, 
And some so brilliant catch my eye 

Like Jupiter or Mars. 
Many are the lesser lights 

In stars of palest yellow 
Studded in the royal blue, 

In tones so deep and mellow. 

And now directly overhead 

In fleecy milky white, 
I see a veil like white chiffon, 

Draping the glory light. 
Then comes to me a legend old, 

As in the long ago, 
Of painted, silent red men 

With moccasin and bow. 



38 



Songs of the Field 



How silently and wonderingly 

They studied well the sky; 
As well as nature ever true 

In nature's cradle lie. 
In the depths of nature's secrets 

True to her beating heart, 
Oh ! how fondly she unfoldeth 

Every petal of her part. 

How the dusky brave did love her 

And ever kept in tune, 
From all the world's four quarters, 

All the tribes did oft commune. 

And the stars within this milky veil, 

If legend tells us true 
Are the spirits of departed braves, 

Set in Heaven's crystal blue, 
The happy hunting ground is veiled 

In this fleecy, pearly white, 
We can only see this vision 

In the glory of the night. 



[39 



Songs of the Field 



But methinks this tells a story 

Of a promise rich and rare, 
Through the earthly vale we are traveling, 

Filled with work and pain and care. 
The glories are overshadowed, 

With this soothing veil of white, 
Lest our eyes behold the glory 

And are blinded with the light. 

So to the great Creator 

With the key to every heart, 
May we each perform our duty 

And bravely do our part. 
May we each have all the secret, 

May we have the golden key, 
May we ever live whole, perfect, 

In the Royal, Grand Tepee. 



40] 



Songs of the Field 



THE ROAD TO CONCORD END 

Often memory takes me over 

The old road I used to know, 
With my dinner pail and book bag, 

Sped the feet that were not slow. 
Up the steep, steep hill I climbed; 

On each side the briers grew, 
Dotted in with morning-glories 

Shining in the dew. 
On the hilltop all around 

Was a circle of great hills, 
Touching one until its grandeur 

Every nerve in rapture thrills, 
As the blue sky spread above it 

Made a tent so large and grand 
That one felt that in the valley 

Was the hollow of God's hand. 
There upon the hilltop grew 

The old, old, beachnut tree, 
Jack Frost had opened the burs, 

And down came the nuts all free. 



4i] 



Songs of the Field 



Saucy squirrels scampered around us, 

Red and striped and gray, 
Filling up their cellers 

For the long, long winter's day. 
There's the grapevine in full blossom 

Covering o'er the old stone wall 
And hidden under shining leaves, 

The purple clusters fall ; 
Also the grapevine swing beside the road, 

And the old house close beside, 
With its red, old-fashioned chimney 

And the great old fireplace wide. 
Deserted? Yes, by human kind; 

Only memory lingers there, 
And the swallows weaving in its eaves, 

Nests with greatest care. 
Out in front a stately willow 

Is alive with bird and bee, 
Covered o'er with fluffy yellow 

Makes a bank of mystery, 
There the swamp grass grew so rank, 

With black alder dotted red, 
While a long dark line of pines 

Formed an arch above one's head. 



[42] 



Songs of the Field 



Oh! how cool and sweet within this isle, 

A carpet for one's feet. 
I fancied a Cathedral 

Where God and nature meet. 
Memory takes me often 

Back beneath the pines to dream: 
I see again the feathery ferns, 

And hear the blue jay scream; 
I see again the old hilltop 

Where silent white stones keep 
Watching o'er the moss pink graves 

Where some silent sleepers sleep. 
Ah ! many times in years gone by 

I stood by a tiny grave, 
A little white stone marked the resting place, 

A treasure some mother gave; 
A bunch of rosebuds carved on top, 

An inscription, sweet and dear, 
With tears in my eyes I often read, 

"Many hopes lie buried here," 
Still on we go, we are most to school, 

The big white schoolhouse there, 
The teacher standing in the door 

Her face just touched by care. 



43] 



SONG« 



O F 



THE 



ELD 



Methinks I see the road of life 

That then I traveled over, 
Preparing one for daily strife 

Sometimes tears and sometimes clover. 
Take me often to the place, 

The place where enchantment lends, 
The hills, the pines, the old beech tree, 

And the schoolhouse at the end. 




[44] 



Songs of the Field 



THE BROAD HIGHWAY 




*« 



I 



I am glad I am a traveler, upon the broad highway. 

I am glad I am not riding in a limousine today. 

For perhaps I would be missing some of life's prone 
little things. 

And perhaps, the wheels would deafen what the feath- 
ered songsters sing. 

If so I could not tarry beside a gnarled old tree. 

Blossomed into wondrous beauty, the haunt of bird 
and bee. 



I might not see the flowers peeping through the dusty 

grass. 
I might not yet be able to greet comrades as they pass. 
I could not get at nature in this grand and rushing way, 
I could not feel at evening I had passed a well spent 

dav. 

[45] 



Songs of the Field 

I am glad the dear Lord gave me just a humble quiet 

place ; 
Led me out upon life's highway set for me a traveler's 

pace. 
Let me hear the joy of childhood, innocent and glad 

and free. 
Let me meet the dust worn traveler; give a right glad 

hand to me. 

Let me see the mourners passing lay away their hon- 
ored dead, 
Let me see in flashing dust clouds many a proud and 

plumed head. 
Some day I stop to rest me beside the dusty road, 
And friends will gather around me to help me lift my 

load. 
My eyes shall see the sunset as in its afterglow, 
My spirit will go to meet them, the loved ones that I 
know. 

The bright, blue dawn shall open, I shall see the Mas- 
ter's face; 

He who traveled earth a stranger yet for me has kept 
a place. 

The road leads to the sunset, the sky is streaked with 
gold. 

Oh! may not these arms be empty may they some 
treasure hold. 

May I take within the portal, some token of ths fray. 

May these ears catch the music it is for aye and aye. 

Then I will be glad I journeyed upon life's hard high- 
way. 

[46] 



Songs of the Field 



THE NECKLACE 

In memory's box I found them, 

One by one, the treasures old, 
One I had e'en when cradled, 

Wrapped and bound by pin and fold. 
Little knew I of the jewel, 

But no matter where I played 
That gem has never left me 

Though by field and brook I strayed. 

In the box are many jewels, 

Every one I know by name, 
Some are worth a prince's fortune, 

Some are strangers still to fame. 
There is one so brightly polished 

That it lights the darkest night, 
The stars are pale beside it, 

Its luster is so bright. 



47 



Songs of the Field 



This gem my mother gave me ; 

I have tossed it to and fro, 
I little knew its value, 

But the years taught me to know 
'Tis the largest one my box contains, 

The finest cut, indeed, 
And never shall I part with it 

Though pressed, and dire in need. 

In my box are other jewels, 

Collected far, and near, 
They are friends' bright smiles, and faces, 

While now and then a hardened tear, 
Formed a pearl of milky luster 

Round, and smooth, both pink and white, 
And music, love, and laughter, 

Ever kept my diamonds bright. 

I've collected, and collected, 

Sorted, kept, and cast away, 
And I keep the brightest of them 

To look over every day. 
I am stringing up my jewels, 

All the gems of life are there, 
And I never string a jewel 

Without the greatest care. 



48 



Songs of the Field 



I am weaving in the jewels, 

But the pendant is a cross, 
It was hard and it was heavy, 

And I tried to cast it off, 
But I only found in casting 

I sustained a greater loss. 
As the years pass on it's lighter, 

And it seems to be more bright, 
And it shows me every moment, 

That its place is justly right. 

My necklace is not completed, 

Although it has grown and grown, 
And when it meets completion, 

The Father has only known. 
I am looking for fulfilment 

Within the necklace coy, 
When I clasp it on forever, 

My necklace of perfect joy. 



49 



Songs of the Field 




Songs of the Field 



WHERE THE BLUE GENTIAN 
GREW 

At the foot of the hill, and under an arch, 

A tiny brook flowed to the sea, 
And in childhood many an hour I played, 

Contented and happy to be, 
This brook to me was a wonder-rill ; 

The sparkling sunlight on its pebbles, 
And many the hour the fish we watched, 

Swimming around in gayest revels. 

Reflected there were faces three. 

Chubby, round, and brown, 
A brother, and sister dear, 

Who fished the long brook down. 
Our fishing tackle was pins and twine, 

With shiners for the fish, 
And from the bank we took our bait, 

With neither spade nor dish. 



5i 



Songs of the Field 



So near to nature's heart were we, 

The barefoot girls and boy. 
This brook held many wonders, 

And filled our hearts with joy. 
Every season brought its shadow, 

Every season brought its shade, 
While within our childish day-dreams, 

Our futures are being made. 

In the swelling brook of the glad springtime, 

We sailed our shingle boat, 
And pictured the ocean grand and blue, 

With big ships all afloat. 
In the heat of summer and showers few, 

The brook refused to flow, 
And a bed of pebbles marked the place 

And there the blue gentians grew. 



52 



Songs of the Field 



Now once again the storm-clouds burst, 

And swell the rushing stream. 
Bright Autumn comes in gayest dress. 

All decked in shimmering sheen. 
Close beside the water's edge, 

In deepest, darkest blue. 
Lifting up their budded heads, 

There the closed gentian grew. 

What lessons do you bring with you, 

My little shy wild flower? 
God sent you for a purpose rare. 

To teach us of His power. 
Do I read you right, my gentian, 

As we mortals drift along? 
We cannot see the morrow, 

Xor hear the Angel's song. 



[53 I 



Songs of the Field 



But to you my little blind one, 

May we ever hold you true, 
You were never known to droop your head, 

Your head of deepest blue. 
Ever growing upward 

For the children of His Heart, 
Although closed your centre 

You have ever done your part. 

Your faith was never shaken, 

By either wind or storm, 
And perchance you may some day show us, 

In the Heavenly garden born. 
A heart of deepest treasure, 

Which you on earth began, 
And in God's garden you shall open 

The centre you have won. 



[54] 



Song- 7 the Fieli 



May we 'ear: 

As each day we drift along. 
May we catch some little n 

Or a note c I 
We all are like the gentiar. 

r.e can see ou : 
But the God within us help us 

As we strive to do our f 

rom in God's garden. 
the land that knows no ni. 
know each other ire 

In Heaven's glory li r 
But memory takes me back again. 

To the place we used to know. 
By the little old brook at the foot of the hill, 
ere the blue gentians grow. 



[55l 



Songs of the Field 



NOVEMBER 

The road is yellow and ochre and brown, 

The sides are sere and dry. 
The stalks of the flowers are brown and old 

And the sun hangs pale in the sky. 

Here and there is a patch of green. 

And in some sheltered nook, 
A truant blossom still is seen 

Daring the winter cold, 
Struggling yet while shortened days 

Say autumn's very old. 

November skies are gray and cold. 

The trees rub their branches and whisper, 
The wind plays a tune, the earth sings a song, 
" The winter birds join in the vesper. 

The soul of summer comes again 

To kiss the earth goodbye. 
She leaves us a breath that is sweet and mild 

And vanishes to die. 



56 



Songs of the Field 



Through summer and winter this road we've traveled 

The seasons come and go. 
The spring brings life, the autumn, death; 

We have seen it and we know. 

Living and dying, hand in hand, 

They shall ever be. 
To die is but to live again 

The price that makes us free. 



[57 1 



Songs of the Field 



SUNSHINE 

Let us scatter all the sunshine, 

That we can along our way, 
To those who are sometimes weary 

Of the pain and toil of today. 
As we pass along life's pathway, 

Let us gather as we go 
All the good that we can carry 

In God's garden here below. 



58] 



imnmnHu C0NGRESS 

015 898 048 4 



